Reaping Day
by Addiemidala
Summary: Katniss takes on the anniversary of the Reaping Day and the memories that come along with it. (Spoilers from HG, CF, and MJ.)


**Disclaimer: Yeah, no.**

 _Breathe in. Breathe out._

Dr. Aurelius' calm, almost bored voice swims through my head. _One breath in...ah, yes, very nice Katniss. Now one breath out...perfect._ His technique is quite faulty for me, but today I must try everything I can to stay away from the brink of breaking, which seems to be getting inevitably closer. Today it seems a million times harder to stay at bay.

Because today is Reaping Day.

Or, at least, it would be. I have to keep reminding myself that the Games are over. That 24 children will not be played as instruments under the Capitol's sadistic fingers. Even so, it seems as if my mother will draw me a bath and I'll soak in the tub, wishing to slip away under the iciness, far away from Effie Trinket with her happy-go-lucky Capitol vernacular and the bowl perched to her right holding both mine and my sister Prim's names. That my mom's clever hands will braid my hair into something beautiful. And when my sister's hair is plaited into two neat braids of her own, I'll notice her shirt peeking out from the back of her skirt. I'll laugh and tuck her shirt in carefully, saying "Tuck your tail in, little duck."

The first tears of the day threaten to spill out over. I raise my palms up to my eyes. _Breathe in, breathe out._

And then Prim would worry over her odds. I would shake my head at the thought of my little sister competing in the Games. "It's your first year Prim," I'd dismiss. "Your name has only been in there once. They're not going to pick you."

Oh, how I was wrong. So, very wrong.

I feel my tears slide down my cheeks. I make a pitiful sound as I try to stop my nose from running. _Breathe in. Breath-_ no. I was bound to cry eventually. There's no point in trying to calm down now.

Sobs and gasps rack my body. "Prim," I whisper. "I'm so sorry." I press my hands into the mattress I'm laying on to get up. I place my bare feet on the ground and shivers shoot up my legs and into my spine. Today would be considered an uncharacterly cold day. I close my eyes, and think about how maybe the weather's not so out of character for today. Reaping Day. No, Used-to-be-Reaping-Day. Right. Today is just another day.

The phone rings when I began to sluggishly trek down the stairs. I know who it is. It's always the same person. I don't bother to change my pace.

"Dr. Aurelius," I croak into the transmitter.

"Katniss!" His usual monotone voice is replaced with a perkier one.

I roll my eyes. "I know what you're doing," I say. "You don't have to."

"I don't know what you mean, Katniss." He clears his throat. "So, talk to me; how're you feeling this morning?"

"It's Reaping Day," I respond.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tsks. "It's _not_ Reaping Day. Not anymore."

"Mhm."

"But I know this is a tough day for you nonetheless."

"Mhm." He doesn't know the first thing about how I feel today.

"And all the memories that come with toda-"

" _Mhm_." He just doesn't get it.

"Katniss, have you tried the breathing exercise?"

"I tried." I did.

"That's good, Katniss. Do you feel any better? Calmer, perhaps?"

I think back to the croak in my voice. "Mhm." I don't.

I hear him sigh. "Very well, Katniss." The chirp in his voice is gone. "Call me if you need anything."

"Sure." I hang up.

The scent of cheesy bread fills my nostrils. Peeta, who I'm sure has been up for hours, must be baking my favorites in hopes of my happiness. _At least he tried,_ I think. I walk through the living room and into the kitchen.

At the sound of wood giving under my feet, Peeta turns around. "Good morning."

"Hey." He frowns, then quickly recovers. I sit down at the table. The puffiness around my eyes still stings, and rest my head against my hand.

"No hunting today?" he asks.

"Today isn't a hunting day."

Peeta sits down with a sigh. "I know."

I look up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Katniss. You?"

I shake my head. "Today is the hardest day of the year for me." I shift my gaze to the window behind Peeta. "Remembering every child who got their fingers pricked. And all the kids who were tributes. Watching them die at the hands of _other_ children. Prim's name being pulled out of the Reaping Bowl. Effie speaking the words that didn't belong in her mouth...my sister's name." I run my shaky hands through my hair. "I feel so sick."

Peeta meets my stare. "You stopped all of that, Katniss." My eyes fall, and I feel hot tears slide down my face. "Real or not real?"

"Real." I know he asked more for me than him. "But it wasn't just me."

"But you were the spark. And the fire. You were the _Mockingjay_." He takes my clammy hands. "Let's walk by the school. Okay?" I nod.

We walk past Haymitch's house (who no-doubt is drunk), through Victor's Village, and up to the school. It's changed a considerable amount. Then again, District 12 did get bombed during the war, and they basically had to redo almost everything from the ground up. Besides Victor's Village, everything was completely demolished.

Peeta points out a few kids walking in the courtyard. "Look," he says. "They would've been in the square right now, worrying about if their names were going to be pulled out of the Reaping Balls. Thanks to you, they're here at school, and they'll never have to worry about the Games."

I give a weak smile. It's a genuine one, though. "Thank you," I say. He squeezes my hand.

"No problem."

Peeta and I eventually draw away from the school and walk back home. We eat cheesy bread and talk about nice things. Not the Reaping or the Games, but _nice_ things. Like how smart Prim was, and how Rue was so very clever. I even talk about how gorgeous Finnick was to pick on Peeta.

Peeta reminisces on the shenanigans his brothers and himself pulled to raise havoc, and how his dad would always catch them in the middle of a flour-fight, and that he'd just laugh and join in with them. Peeta then talks about how beautiful his mom could be. At the end of the day, when shop was closed and the bakery was all cleaned up, she'd kiss all the boys good-night. Peeta says that she would sometimes ruffle his blonde curls a bit before retreading out the door. Nice things.

In the end, Peeta started baking more cheesy bread and I went out for some fresh air. I don't plan to hunt. Instead, I just sit in the Meadow. It's only just beginning to start looking like it's old self. Grass has begun to grow over the graves of those who perished in District 12 during the war. Flowers are starting to sprout. I know it will soon be a lovely sight.

Peeta soon sits beside me with a plate of cheesy bread. I grab a roll once he's done awkwardly maneuvering his prosthetic leg. We munch in a comfortable silence. "Today's Reaping Day," I whisper.

Peeta just looks at me and takes my hand. I'm glad that he doesn't say it _used_ to be Reaping Day, like both myself and Dr. Aurelius told me this morning. Because today will always be Reaping Day to me.

Peeta's thumb draws circles across the back of my hand. We watch the sun sink to the ground. It paints the sky a rich orange. I see Peeta smile from the corner of my eye.

And then I see it. Little ways away, a dandelion grows. But I stay where I am with Peeta, not wanting to pick it for a wish. The yellowness is reassuring enough, symbolizing rebirth. Meaning things will get better.

 _Maybe they will,_ I think. _Maybe they will._


End file.
